


but the victory is

by ikuzonos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Persona Secret Santa 2020, Post-Canon, goro akechi found alive working a minimum wage job; what happens next will warm your heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: I wanted to hurt you, but the victory is I could not stomach it.After three years of being legally dead, Goro Akechi encounters the former Phantom Thieves.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kitagawa Yusuke, Akechi Goro & Sakura Futaba, Kitagawa Yusuke & Sakura Futaba
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	but the victory is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niebieskameliska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niebieskameliska/gifts).



> Written for the Persona Secret Santa 2020! This fic is just me pandering to my best friend for nearly eight thousand words because I got assigned them by some miracle.
> 
> Merry xmas, asshole. I love you so much <3

When they walk into the convenience store, there is a split second where Goro doesn’t recognize them. He corrects his failure instantly and ducks into the back, peering out at them through the slats in the window. Why here? Why now?

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. Once his heart rate is back at a normal level, he squints again, digging his nails into the wall. Apparently, he did not move far enough away from Tokyo to hide from the Phantom Thieves.

Kitagawa is taller, but not as thin as he used to be. Or perhaps the added bulk is from the winter coat and scarf he’s been bundled in. Sakura has maintained her striking ginger hair, but she looks so different with an undercut that he almost could have mistaken her for someone else.

Almost.

God, how did they find him? Goro Akechi has been legally dead for three years now, and until this very moment, not a single person from his previous life had gotten anywhere near him. He grits his teeth, watching them look through the shelves. Sakura’s lips are flapping at a hundred miles an hour, and Kitagawa’s expression is intense; he’s completely focused on the different types of cheap candy in front of him.

They shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be happening. His hands are starting to shake from the stress. Do they know about him? How could they have possibly found out? If they do know, why haven’t they leapt the counter and confronted him yet? Are they hoping to catch him with his guard down?

Deep breaths. He’s catastrophizing. That’s what his therapist calls it. He needs to control his breathing and focus on something tangible. Once he has normal oxygen levels in his brain, he’ll have an easier time thinking clearly. And then he can figure out what the  _ fuck _ he’s going to do about this.

“Fujiwara-kun?”

Goro yelps and spins around. His shoulders relax slightly at the sight of his supervisor, who looks at him with concern. For reasons that he can’t fathom, she’s always been very worried about him. It bothers him, but not in a way he knows how to express. He sucks in another deep breath and plasters a smile on his face. He’s still good at that. Years of plastic smiles for cameras and interviews have proven to be helpful for working minimum wage retail jobs.

“You’re very pale,” she says, folding her arms around her clipboard. “Did something happen? If you need your break now, I can send someone up.”

Goro hesitates, looking back into the store through the window. He can still see them, various snacks in their arms. A bag of chips falls off the pile Kitagawa is holding, and Sakura laughs. It makes his chest ache. “There’s… some people in the store. That I know.”

His supervisor’s concern increases tenfold, and she presses her lips together tightly before speaking. “Then you can stay back here as long as you need. If you’re able to, can you unpack the energy drinks from the cases that just came in? I’ll have Shirazaki-kun actually bring them to the display.”

Goro bows his head, trying to ignore the thick feeling in his throat. “I can handle that. Thank you, Hasegawa-san.”

Hasegawa nods to him, then opens the door and heads to the register to take his place. Goro wipes sweat off his brow and goes to find the cases she mentioned. It’s something easy, something mindless, something to do with his hands while he calms down. It’s fine. This isn’t the end of the world. They never saw him. And they never  _ will. _

Deep breaths. He’s fine.

Goro has kept his personal information under as much lock and key as possible. All Hasegawa really knows about him — or thinks she knows, at any rate — is that he’s a college drop out with a difficult past. He’s moved far away from where the incidents in his youth occurred, but he’s still deathly afraid of encountering anyone who knew him as a teenager. While he’s never disclosed any further details, Hasegawa has always been supporting him; getting him help during panic attacks, ensuring he gets proper breaks, and apparently, making sure the former Phantom Thieves can’t get close to him.

It’s a relief, even if it confuses him to no end. He’s still not used to people being kind to him. He’s sure it’s because Hasegawa doesn’t know anything about him, because she only knows poor Goro Fujiwara, because she mothers all the teenagers and young adults working at this shitty little store in Hida.

He’s tired. He’s unpacking the cases as best he can, but god, he’s tired. He’s only twenty-one, and already has horrible back pain on top of literally everything else. Because the destroyed false god couldn’t let him have shit, huh.

Goro stays in the back until the end of his shift. When it’s time to go, Hasegawa offers him a warm smile amidst his internal turmoil, and it almost stops him from looking over his shoulder the whole way home, just in case Kitagawa or Sakura or anyone he left behind is still lurking around.

Almost.

* * *

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he grumbles to his hamsters. The pair of them stare up at him, before returning to nibbling on sunflower seeds. Goro presses his lips together and sighs, then pulls out their water tube to change it.

He’s had his hamsters for two months now. Kawa and Herbata — or, Coffee and Tea, but the pet shop employee had insisted they were Polish hamsters, so Goro had named them accordingly — are very well behaved, and listen to him when he needs to complain about his day. They can’t counsel him — because that would be too easy — but he appreciates their company.

Goro returns to their large enclosure with fresh water. Herbata runs over and begins to drink right away, while Kawa climbs onto the metal wheel, ready to run. He watches them for a few moments longer, before going over to his couch and lying down.

This is a nightmare. Goro Akechi is dead. He didn’t take back his mother’s surname, despite the shame and stigma clinging to it, just to be caught by the only people who could see through his fabricated documentation.

He takes a deep breath and tries to reassure himself. Everything is going to be fine. This was a fluke. He’ll go back to work tomorrow, and both Kitagawa and Sakura will be long gone. And on the  _ very _ off chance that they somehow come back, he’ll quit and hide out in his apartment for the foreseeable future. He doesn’t even really need his job, considering he’s been stealing from Shido’s offshore accounts this entire time. It’s just something to occupy his day.

With this resolve, he sits back up, rubs his temples, and gets off the couch to start preparing dinner. This was a one time incident, and he’s never going to see the Phantom Thieves ever again.

* * *

Kitagawa and Sakura walk into the store at the same time they did yesterday. Goro barely holds back a scream as he dives behind the counter.

Okay, this is  _ bad. _ They clearly know he’s here, and are trying to catch him when he isn’t paying attention. He’ll quit as soon as he physically can, but first he has to get out of this shift alive. He needs to get out of any possible line of sight. He’s shaking as he crawls into the back of the store, ignoring the strange looks Shirazaki and Tominaga give him as he does so. They don’t matter. None of this matters. All he needs to do is  _ hide. _

Goro sits down behind a pile of crates, leaning against the back wall. He brings his knees up to his chest, holding his head in his hands, and desperately resists the urge to yell at the top of his lungs. He is not dealing with this. He’s going to lock himself in his room and order groceries online for three years. Maybe then he’ll finally be nothing at all to the ever persistent thieves haunting his ever move.

Distantly, he processes the soft squeaking of rubber soles on the cold tile floor. A few seconds later, someone kneels down next to him, and he recognizes Hasegawa by the silver bracelet clamped around her wrist as she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened, Fujiwara-kun? Are you unwell?” she asks, her voice soft and understanding. Somehow, her dulcet tones make him want to be sick. He’s already got a splitting headache from all this constant stress.

Finally, he chokes out, “They’re back. The people from yesterday.” He can barely breathe. This is too much.

Hasegawa’s posture changes. When she speaks, her voice is low and sharp, “Describe them. I’ll kick them out of the store.”

“You… you don’t have to do that,” Goro murmurs. He digs his fingers into his scalp, hoping the little spark of pain will shock his senses enough for him to get his act together. It doesn’t work, because his shitty body stays curled up on the floor.

“Clearly I do. I don’t know what these people did to you, but seeing you like this is breaking my heart,” Hasegawa says. She squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “Your safety — everyone’s safety — is paramount. Who are they?”

This is the part that makes his insides hurt. Sakura and Kitagawa aren’t bad people, but that’s absolutely the impression his supervisor has gotten from his behaviour, and she isn’t going to back down. He knows her well enough by this point.

And so, cowardly, he says, “The ginger with glasses, and the lanky boy with her. They… I… You don’t need to throw them out, I can—”

Hasegawa shakes her head. “Fujiwara-kun. I’m not going to put you at risk because you don’t want to be a bother. It’s okay to ask for help.”

She leaves him with those words as she strides out of the room. Goro swallows the hot bile building up in his throat, and shakily gets to his feet. He silently curses himself as he peers out of the tiny window slats into the store. It’s in moments like these that he wonders how he ever got through interviews without breaking down.

Maybe it’s better that he’s stopped bottling up his emotions and sealing them in cement. Maybe he’s becoming everything he hated about his childhood self; weak, vulnerable, and useless. There was a reason he was a throwaway child. He had to shed that powerless skin to survive in a world of bloodshed and blackmail, and he hates how his hands begin to shake at the thought. Recognizing that he’s traumatized has not made him hate the signs any less.

Hasegawa’s booming voice breaks his concentration, and he shakes his head. She’s staring down Sakura and Kitagawa, her arms folded and her expression freezing cold. He shivers almost instinctively, having the feeling deep in his chest that he’s disappointed an authority figure, even though her ire is not directed at him in the slightest.

“Hold it!” Sakura shouts. Her voice is high pitched enough to carry all through the store, and several other customers stop to look at the commotion. “We haven’t done anything wrong! What’s your  _ problem?!” _

Hasegawa says firmly, “If you and your friend do not vacate the premises immediately, I will send the store’s security after you. The two of you are being recorded and monitored, and will be barred entry from this location from now on.”

This is definitely an abuse of power, even though the store doesn’t have a security team. It makes Goro’s stomach feel like he’s on the verge of throwing up.

Kitagawa’s voice is harder to make out from such a distance. “I do not understand. We are not stealing, and have been nothing but quiet and polite. I assure you, we do not wish harm on anyone.”

“That’s what I can’t believe,” Hasegawa grumbles. Her jaw is clenched hard enough to give her a migraine. She puts her hands on Kitagawa’s shoulders and begins to herd him and Sakura to the exit. Their little shopping basket lies in the middle of the aisle, abandoned.

Both of them protest as Hasegawa forces them out of the store. Just before the glass door slams in their faces, Sakura shouts, “I didn’t kill god for this!”

Then, there is nothing but heavy silence. Hasegawa looks around at the rest of the customers, who are standing in wide eyed shock. None of them have the guts to confront her; Goro certainly wouldn’t in their position.

Hasegawa shakes her head and returns to the back room. She smiles at Goro, all fury completely melting from her expression. It’s like she’s a different person.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Goro insists, his voice low and dry.

“Nonsense. I’d do it again,” Hasegawa replies, “Are you ready to go back out and take charge of the register again? If not, I can—”

Goro quickly cuts her off, “It’s fine. I’ll do it.” He’s already given in to her kindness. He can’t take advantage of it any longer. He already tastes of tar and ruin.

* * *

In the grocery store, Goro sets his basket on the ground and examines the packages of vegan meat on the shelves. It seems that they’re out of the brand he normally purchases, so he’ll have to decide which of the competitors is worth it.

For the past few months, he’s been watching cooking shows on the internet, and learning new techniques from them. He still isn’t very good at any of them, and he’ll never be Sohla El-Waylly or Claire Saffitz, but he’s come a long way from burning every single thing he tried to cook, including rice and toast.

After a few minutes of deliberation over the nutritional value and the prices, Goro settles on a decision and places it in his basket. He plans on making stir fried egg noodles tonight, and wants them to be just right. Maybe he’ll splurge a little bit and buy a bit of wine to go with it. It’s not like he has to keep counting every yen in his bank account anymore.

He reaches into his jacket pocket to double check his shopping list, when a familiar voice makes him freeze in his tracks.

“Boring! Geez, Inari, I thought I finally got you to care about more than eating oil paints.”

Sakura is no further than three feet away from him, and Kitagawa must be with her. Goro struggles for air as his mouth dries out.

Kitagawa’s reply places him even closer to Goro, “I beg your pardon. I assure you that I have never once eaten any paint, oil or otherwise. Do you have any idea what an expensive habit that would be?”

Sakura cackles in response. Goro tries to grab his basket and run, but his body won’t move. He can hardly breathe. It’s as though there’s a steel pipe lodged in his lungs, preventing him from accomplishing  _ anything. _ He needs to do something, needs to escape, needs to make sure they don’t notice he’s alive and standing just a ways away from them, needs to needs to needs to needs to—

“Pardon me,” Kitagawa says. His voice is soft, but Goro doesn’t have to turn around to know that the man is directly behind him. God, he’s going to  _ die _ right here. Even after all Hasegawa did to help him, it was for nothing. They’ve found him and they’re going to rip him to shreds right here, right now, in the middle of the nicest store in town, and none of the people watching will care.

Kitagawa clears his throat. “Pardon me. You are blocking the shelves.”

He can’t move.

“Hey!” Sakura shouts. Her boots squeak on the freshly waxed floor as she presumably bounces up beside Kitagawa. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to inconvenience Inari! What’s your problem?”

Goro lets out a weak, breathless scream as he drops to his knees and grabs his head. He digs his fingernails into his skull, desperately crying out in hopes that they’ll be too startled to understand what’s going on.  _ How _ on earth did this happen? Was he not punished enough for what he did? Hadn't he suffered enough?!

“Oh, fuck,” Sakura mutters. Her hand briefly lands on his shoulder, but Goro flinches away from her touch as though her hands are made of swords. He can see her boots in front of him now as she crouches, trying to look into his eyes. He won’t let her.

Kitagawa says, “I can contact an employee. Perhaps he needs medical attention.”

Sakura’s voice shakes, “Good idea. He looks worse than you do when you’re all iron deficient.”

“N-No,” Goro chokes out, forcing his voice as low as it can possibly go. They don’t seem to have noticed yet, which is a small mercy, and the only one he’ll get. “Go away. Just go away.”

Kitagawa responds, “That would be foolish. You are most certainly unwell, and it would be cruel of us to leave you here in such a state. We will do what we can to help you without causing you discomfort.”

What the  _ fuck.  _ Help him? It’s not right. Why on earth would they want to help him? For fuck’s sake, he killed Sakura’s mother! He doesn’t deserve their aid, even if it’s being offered. He can’t do this, he can’t keep kneeling on the ground and resisting the urge to claw his ribs open.

“Hey, c’mon,” Sakura says. She sounds worried, which makes bile rise up in his throat. “Look, I used to get like this all the time, and I still have shitty moments like this. But you’re not gonna get any better if you don’t even try to help yourself.”

“Go away,” Goro breathes. His heart is thumping so fast that he feels like he’ll die at any second. Maybe once the organ leaps out of his chest and allows him to escape this flesh prison, he won’t have to worry endlessly about the Phantom Thieves. God  _ damn _ them. He was finally at a point in his life where he was happy.

Kitagawa crouches down beside Sakura. He doesn’t try to touch Goro, thankfully, but what he says next is the least comforting thing of all. “Can you tell us your name? That may help to ground you. From there, we can take additional steps to ensure that you are—”

Goro looks up at them, watching as their faces twist from fear into bewilderment and then  _ terror, _ and shouts,  _ “Leave me alone!” _

Before they regain their bearings and tackle him, Goro leaps to his feet and sprints out of the grocery store, leaving his carefully curated shopping basket on the floor behind them. He ignores the sound of cashiers yelling after him as he runs through the parking lot and across the street. He ignores the drivers honking at him and the tires screeching as they swerve so as not to hit him. He ignores the world.

All he can do is run and pray that Sakura and Kitagawa won’t have it in them to keep chasing. He doesn’t stop until he’s so deep in a dark forest that he doesn’t even have cell service. As he collapses against a fallen, rotting log covered in moss, he supposes that will have to be enough.

* * *

“Uh.”

Futaba’s comment is the most intelligent thing either of them have said since they realized that Goro Akechi was alive and having a mental breakdown in front of them both. Yusuke still can’t process it; it was definitely  _ him,  _ even though he looked different. The gleam in his eyes and horror in his voice isn’t something he knows how to forget.

Until that moment, like his fellow former thieves and the rest of Tokyo, Yusuke had believed Akechi was long gone. Hadn’t they heard him bleed to death in the engine room of Shido’s Palace? It was years and years ago now, but it’s not an incident Yusuke could ever forget. The sounds of his fading shrieks are forever burned into his mind.

“So,” Futaba says, clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white, “He’s alive, huh? That’s… I don’t even know what to think.”

Yusuke nods slowly. “It is most strange. But it does explain the adverse reaction he had to us appearing. In his position, I would not want to be in the vicinity of us either.”

Futaba sticks her tongue out and hunches her shoulders, deep in thought. “I mean, I guess, yeah. It still makes like, no fucking sense to me. I’m… I think I’m in shock?”

“The fact that you are aware enough to suggest such a thing is confirmation that you are  _ not _ in shock,” Yusuke says confidently, tugging on the sleeves of his winter coat, “You would be in much disarray were that actually the case.”

Amazingly, that gets her to laugh, though the sound is bittersweet. “Thanks, Inari. I can always count on you to be a dumbass.”

Yusuke says, “I do not see what is so dumb about my observation.”

She laughs again, with a bit more mirth. Yusuke still isn’t so sure what’s funny, but allows himself to smile with her. At the very least, it will make the both of them more ready to deal with the bizarre situation that sits ahead of them now.

Yusuke takes Akechi’s abandoned shopping basket and tips the contents of it into their own. He isn’t entirely sure what they’ll do with the empty basket, as the places to return them are on the far sides of the store, but he supposes they can carry it until then.

Futaba blinks. “Uh, Inari? What was that for?”

“The very least we can do is ensure he receives his groceries,” Yusuke replies, shifting the contents around so that their bread does not get squished by the canned tomato sauce. “I imagine he will be quite hungry otherwise.”

Futaba bites her lip. “Oh. Yeah. Right, okay. You want to find him.”

Yusuke nods. “I think it would be prudent… but I have the feeling that you do not wish to do so.”

She doesn’t respond, instead staring at the floor and scuffing her boots on the floor. Yusuke carefully takes her hand and guides her out of the aisle.

* * *

As it turns out, the university Futaba got into is startlingly close to the art school Yusuke had been attending since he graduated from Kosei High. With this knowledge, the two of them had made the decision to be roommates; it was a good way for the both of them to be responsible but not entirely self sufficient, as neither were particularly good at it.

It made for a peaceful and enjoyable life. They were often trading barbs and perhaps driving each other a little up the wall, but it was always in good fun, and they rarely had any fights more serious than about what they’d have for dinner. Yusuke had noticed that Futaba was so much happier now than she had been, and he was exceptionally proud of her growth, though admitting that to her face would likely embarrass her, as he’d learned.

Perhaps it was foolish, but he considered her his best friend. Sometimes, it seemed like it really was just the two of them and their strange brains against the world. It was comforting to be able to rely on her, and he was always ready to lend a hand himself.

And now that Futaba had loudly declared to the old couple who lived next door that not only were they both very, very gay, but also siblings, people would finally stop presuming that the two were a couple, which was a relief considering how often strangers thought to invade their personal life.

Yusuke smiles to himself as they get back home. It’s his turn to cook dinner, so Futaba dutifully puts away the groceries. For a moment, she stares at the few bags that contain what Akechi had planned on purchasing, before awkwardly stowing those away too. There’s definitely an awkward tension in the air as Yusuke lights the stove.

It’s nothing they can’t resolve, he knows, but seeing her so low and despondent makes his heart ache. Maybe it was too presumptuous of him to think that Futaba had made peace with Akechi in the years he had been, well, dead. Or perhaps ‘missing in action’ is a better term for it.

The thoughts plague him all through cooking, serving, and eating dinner. Futaba doesn’t even look at him as she absently spoons curry into her mouth. Her eyes are bleak and distant.

Finally, Yusuke says, “You are angry with me. We should talk about this.”

Futaba throws her spoon down, and it clatters against the table. “Akechi killed my mom, Inari. I feel bad for him, and he definitely went through a lot of shit, but he still killed her. And… and I can’t ever forgive that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do such a thing,” Yusuke replies. He reaches across the table and places a hand on her wrist, rubbing his thumb against it as tension slowly leaks from her body. “I certainly don’t forgive him for everything either.”

Neither of them talk about it, but they’ve both shot up in the middle of the night, nightmares about Akira being shot dead in the interrogation room playing in their heads. Yusuke tries not to be bitter, but isn’t some of it deserved?

Futaba mumbles, “I just… I thought he was dead. I thought we all mourned him, and then we moved on. And now it turns out he’s still alive, and apparently he’s fucking terrified of us.”

Yusuke purses his lips. The look on Akechi’s face as he fled the grocery store is burned into his mind. The wild, unabashed terror is almost haunting. “I don’t know what to think of it myself. But since Akechi  _ is _ alive, I feel compelled to reach out to him again. We are the only ones that can ever come close to understanding his grief.”

Futaba chews on her lip, contemplating his words. Yusuke slowly returns to eating, wanting as much curry in his stomach before it becomes cold, but keeps an eye on her. She drags her spoon around on her plate, never fully taking another bite.

He does feel guilty. Futaba has the most reason to hate Akechi out of all of them, besides Haru and  _ possibly _ Akira. But even so, something deep in his lungs says that it would be cruel to pretend they never saw him. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to move on with his life if he doesn’t at least  _ try  _ to speak to Akechi himself.

Yusuke’s mouth feels dry. Even after all this time, he’s desperate for closure.

Finally, Futaba says, “Okay. I… I think you’re right, even though I don’t really like it. But I’m never, ever forgiving him. Ever.”

Yusuke says, “Not everyone deserves forgiveness. But perhaps… atonement is in his future.”

“You’re a dork,” Futaba says, flicking his forehead. Her smile returns, and it’s as though flowers are blooming in their apartment. “I’ll see if I can track him down. Hell, if he never replaced his phone, I might still be able to ping it.”

Yusuke supposes that would be convenient, but unlikely. But it’s somewhere to start, at the very least. He doesn’t know how talking to Akechi will go, considering how horrified he was to encounter them only a couple hours ago, but the remnants of Goemon within Yusuke are determined to make an effort.

It seems like the right thing to do, at the very least.

* * *

By some miracle, and a lot of probably illegal activity, Futaba determines Akechi’s approximate location. She explains how with so much technological jargon that it gives Yusuke a headache, but he doesn’t ask her to dumb it down for him, as god knows he’s talked her half to death about ancient art techniques.

They don’t have an address quite yet, but with some poking around in real life, they might be able to narrow it down to a few places. Luckily, there are only a couple residential areas in the circle Futaba lined out.

“We can make a day trip out of it,” Futaba says, printing off a map of Hida and uncapping a comically large permanent marker. She marks off the spots where Akechi is most likely living at the moment with a flourish. “Even if we don’t find him, there’s probably some cool spots nearby to hang out at.”

Yusuke examines the map carefully, then points at a building within the marked areas. “Is that not the convenience store we were banned from earlier?”

Futaba frowns, and turns to her computer for a moment. “Uh, yeah. That’s really weird, actually. I don’t know what the hell that was about.”

Yusuke replies, “Perhaps I am just making futile connections, but I have to wonder whether or not it is coincidence. That is, because of how close the store is to where Akechi may be.”

Futaba taps the marker against her cheek. It’s still uncapped, and several bright red streaks appear on her cheek as she does so. “Damn, I wouldn’t have thought of that. Guess you’re good for something after all, huh?”

“I like to think I am good for many things,” Yusuke replies, “Such as making soup. I am quite skilled at it these days, actually.”

Futaba giggles. “I know, dork. You make me test all your experiments.”

Yusuke chuckles too, low and rich. For a moment, they can pretend that they’re not on what is probably a messed up wild goose chase. They’re just two dumb young adults doing what they do best; being total idiots.

He can only hope their mission won’t bring them to ruin.

* * *

“Well, we don’t have a ton of other options,” Futaba says, looking up at the ash grey apartment building. She glances back at the map for a moment, chewing on her lip. “I mean, assuming nobody lied to us.”

Yusuke sighs. Their attempts at finding Akechi have been fruitless thus far, and this building is the last spot within their marked circle. He’s beginning to get tired of carrying Akechi’s salvaged groceries, as Futaba was very firm that she was a delicate flower who would wilt if she attempted to do such a thing. Yusuke doesn’t agree with her on that, but he won’t argue either.

He takes a deep breath and shifts the cooler bag to the other shoulder. If he’s not in this building, they’ll go back home and maybe try again another day. Though, Yusuke has a feeling that Futaba will not be so charitable about this in the future.

In the lobby, the security guard gives them a weird look as soon as they walk in. Yusuke tells himself that it’s because the man knows the two of them don’t live there, but he has never quite gotten over constantly being perceived as ‘the weird kid.’ In Futaba’s words, their combined autism makes them very powerful, but doesn’t let them pass as neurotypical to strangers.

“Can I help you kids?” the guard asks, peering at them over a pair of horn rimmed glasses. He’s an older gentleman with carefully trimmed silver hair, who seems like he’s only a few days off from retirement.

Futaba flashes a smile. Yusuke talked to the people in the last building, so now it’s her turn. He tries not to wince at how unlike herself she sounds. “Sorry to bother you, sir! Our friend moved here recently, but he didn’t actually give us his apartment number. Can you help us?”

The guard frowns. He looks like he’s analyzing the pair of them. While they’d gone out of their way to look as unsuspicious as possible, Yusuke has a feeling that they did not succeed on that front. The cooler bag probably doesn’t help their case.

Finally, after several extremely intense seconds, and Futaba shaking in her snow boots, the guard pushes up his glasses. “I s’pose it wouldn’t hurt any.”

Futaba lets out a sigh of relief, and quickly produces the sketch Yusuke did of Akechi from memory. They didn’t get a super good look at him in the grocery store, and he looks different enough that they can’t really fill in the gaps from old pictures of him, but Yusuke thinks it’ll be enough.

The guard says, “Ah, yeah, I know that kid. Real skittish thing. He’s up in 413. Don’t think I saw him leave for work this mornin’, so I imagine he’s in.”

_ He’s up in 413.  _ Akechi is within reach. It almost doesn’t seem real, but Futaba pumps her fist. Yusuke bows politely to the guard, and the two of them make for the elevator. As the doors close in front of them, and the little box rises, Yusuke double checks the cooler bag for all the groceries.

Futaba says, “What a fetch quest. Do you think he’ll let us in?”

“It’s debatable,” Yusuke admits, “But I am confident we can bribe him with the food we painstakingly brought along with us.”

Futaba snorts. “Inari, just because that would work on  _ you,  _ doesn’t mean it’s foolproof.”

Yusuke says, “You have no need to bribe me. I would allow you into my apartment no matter the circumstances.”

“Well, it’s  _ our  _ apartment, so I fucking hope so!” Futaba replies. She shoves Yusuke lightly, which he has come to understand means: ‘I’m joking around.’

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Yusuke swallows his nerves and follows Futaba through the carpeted hallway. They find apartment 413 at the far end, and Yusuke wishes it didn’t look so threatening. At least Futaba seems to be about as anxious as he is.

Yusuke raises his fist and knocks on the door. Futaba clings to his arm as they wait for a reply. After what feels like several hundred years, it opens, and Yusuke gets a glance at Akechi’s face before he slams the door again.

Or at least, tries to. Futaba stuck her foot in the doorway so he couldn’t close it all the way. Akechi opens the door again, staring at the two of them with wide eyes, then rubs his face. “Are you here to kill me?”

“What?! No!” Futaba shouts. She lowers her voice, then folds her arms over her chest. “We wanted to talk to you. Because… you’re alive. You’re…”

Akechi frowns. “Then what’s the bag for?”

Yusuke pulls the cooler bag off his shoulder and hands it to him. While Akechi looks through it, Yusuke says, “It’s your groceries from the other night. We thought you would be rather hungry.”

“We’re bribing you,” Futaba adds, sticking her foot further into the doorway, “with egg noodles and matcha powder. And whatever else is in here.”

Akechi takes a deep breath, looking back and forth between them and the cooler bag. Then, he pulls the door open wide, and mutters, “Fine. Come in.”

Yusuke and Futaba slowly enter the apartment. It’s smaller than their own, with not much aside from a kitchenette, a sofa, and a rolled up futon. Akechi puts the entire cooler bag in the fridge, then goes over to the stove and grabs the light blue kettle sitting on top. Yusuke awkwardly sits down on one of the stools overlooking his small counter, and Futaba does the same on his right.

None of them speak as Akechi fills the kettle with water and puts it on to boil. Futaba’s eyes flicker around the room constantly, while Yusuke watches Akechi’s every step. It’s a very strange, suffocating experience. Yusuke isn’t sure if he’s ever been so uncomfortable in someone else’s home, and he still remembers how nausea flooded his lungs the first time he stepped into Haru’s foyer.

After a few minutes, Akechi puts three steaming mugs of oolong tea on the counter, and sits in the stool across from them. He hunches over, and says, “Okay. Talk.”

Yusuke wraps his cold fingers around his mug. He doesn’t have any idea where to start. One million questions sit on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to dive into the deep end.

Instead, it’s Futaba who speaks first. “Are those hamsters?”

Akechi looks up, confusion plastered across his face. He waits a few seconds, then says, “Yes. Kawa and Herbata. I thought they were both boys, but now Kawa’s pregnant with her third litter. Are either of you interested in adopting a baby hamster?”

Yusuke says, “Would it not be pertinent to separate your hamsters if they keep breeding so rapidly?”

“They get depressed without each other,” Akechi says, folding his hands and resting them on the counter. “It would be cruel to keep them apart.”

Futaba nudges Yusuke’s shoulder. “Inari, I want a hamster.”

“Hm. I suppose that would be fine, as long as you remember to feed it,” Yusuke says, “I could certainly use a new art muse.”

Futaba giggles. She covers her mouth with her hands a moment later, but her laugh is out in the air between them, and if Yusuke isn’t seeing things, it looks like some of the tension has left Akechi’s shoulders. Not all, though.

Yusuke asks, “If it is not too insensitive to inquire about… How did you survive?”

Akechi visibly swallows. He takes some time to respond, and the three of them sip the tea while they wait. It’s a little oversteeped, but it isn’t terrible. Finally, he says, “I don’t know. I woke up in the basement of the Diet Building, and… I ran. I didn’t want anyone to know I was alive.”

“It worked,” Futaba says, hunching over. “We all assumed you were a goner.”

Akechi says, “It was advantageous for me. I… went to a rehabilitation centre that my mother used to frequent, and stayed there until I was ready to start over. A new life, one without any attachments to the Metaverse and the Phantom Thieves.”

“Oops,” Futaba says. She sips her tea to avoid saying anything else.

Yusuke drums his fingers on the counter. “I suppose we owe you an apology. We did cause you quite a fright in the grocery store.”

Akechi takes a deep breath. “And at my work. I didn’t think you’d get  _ banned _ from the convenience store, but every time I saw you two, I…”

“Wow, you’re daring to work a minimum wage job? Sounds more dangerous than being a detective,” Futaba says. Akechi screws up his nose, but Yusuke can tell she isn’t being sarcastic. There’s an honest, concerned gleam in her eyes.

“In any case,  _ I’m _ the one who owes apologies,” Akechi says quietly. He’s shaking, and clutching his mug tightly. Yusuke fears it may shatter. “I know there is no forgiveness for what I’ve done. And yet, I still feel compelled to pay for it.”

Yusuke doesn’t respond to that. It’s not his place to decide one way or the other about that. Despite his own attachment to Akira, he doesn’t have a personal stake in Akechi’s attempt at redemption. However, Futaba does. And she certainly realizes this, judging by how she looks down at her lap with tears in her eyes.

She says, “It’s true. I can’t forgive you. But I think you’ve already paid for it. Shido was so disgusting and cruel to you. I can’t imagine being manipulated by my own blood. And it’s like I said before, it doesn’t matter  _ where _ you start over, as long as you do. It’s never too late.”

Akechi looks stunned. Yusuke says, “That was quite poignant, Futaba.”

“Heh, I rehearsed it,” she says, cracking a tiny grin, “Knew I’d just make an idiot out of myself if I didn’t.”

Akechi shakes his head. “So… So you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t like you either, don’t get me wrong,” Futaba replies quickly, folding her arms. “But you’ve suffered enough. So even if we’ll never be best friends, we can… make peace. I guess.”

Yusuke says gently, “If I may speak on the subject, I agree with what Futaba has said. And I would very much like to reconcile. We have a lot in common between us.”

“Dead mom gang,” Futaba mumbles.

Akechi says, “I was going to say that we  _ are _ some of the few who understand the unique trauma the Metaverse inflicted, but I suppose that applies as well.”

Futaba adds, “We could technically be the shitty dad gang too, but that’s not fair to Sojiro, and I dunno who my birth father is anyways.”

“You don’t?” Akechi asks, frowning. When Futaba shakes her head, he stares at her for a little bit longer, shock and understanding appearing on his face at the same time, then says, “Ah. I see.”

Yusuke says, “It is true that the Metaverse affected us all deeply. Normally, we don’t discuss it, so I suppose we must have many feelings about it on our shoulders.”

Akechi’s voice is so quiet it’s barely audible. “Truly? I assumed with how close you all were, it would be a frequent topic. You all had… each other. Have each other.”

Futaba mumbles, “It makes Akira upset. So we don’t do it.”

Akechi nods slowly. He takes a large sip from his tea, and Yusuke does the same. It’s calming, and a nice distraction. Even though they’re doing their best to stitch up their wounds, Yusuke has a feeling that there will always be some distance between them and Akechi. It’s only natural, but he doesn’t particularly like it.

“Thank you, Akechi,” Yusuke says, digging his nails into his mug in order to properly focus. “I was not expecting this meeting to go anywhere near as well as it did.”

Futaba nods. “Yeah, I figured you’d like, try to get us thrown out of the building or something. It was super anxiety inducing.”

“I… I’m surprised too,” he admits, rubbing his neck. “But I’m glad I gave the two of you a chance. And… and please call me Fujiwara. I’m using my mother’s surname again.”

Yusuke asks, “Could we not make things easy, and call you Goro?”

There’s a pause. Yusuke wonders if he’s been too forward. Beside him, Futaba starts chewing on her thumbnail.

“Very well. Goro it is.”

* * *

“You’re looking a lot better.”

Goro looks up. He’s been so preoccupied stocking shelves that he didn’t notice Hasegawa approaching until now. He sets down the tray of cans and says, “Thank you?”

She chuckles. “Sorry, guess that’s a bit of a backhanded compliment. I just meant that you seem… happy these days. Healthier too.”

Goro replies, “I’ve been feeling that way too. I, um, made some friends. They’ve been helping me through a lot of things.”

Hasegawa smiles bright enough to light up the entire prefecture. “That’s wonderful. I’m proud of you, Fujiwara-kun. You deserve it.”

Goro picks up the tray again, a soft smile flickering onto his lips. Strange as it is at times… Being appreciated is a welcome change. It’s nice to have people who  _ know _ him. When he was adored on the internet, every teenager claimed they were in love with him, but none would have wanted to know him at his rotten core.

He’s healing now, he thinks. There’s flowers blooming from his old wounds.

* * *

“Inariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

Goro chuckles. The three of them are seated at a ramen bar, one Futaba recommended profusely. They’re getting some odd looks from the other customers, but Goro’s come to accept that they’re a bit of a circus.

Yusuke continues to hold the menu just out of Futaba’s reach. “I do not understand what you have against corn. It is healthy and delicious.”

Futaba pouts. “It’s nasty! You’re nasty, Inari! Blugh! Goro, you totally agree, right? Tell him it’s gross!”

Goro replies, “I don’t mind corn on its own, but I don’t think it would be good in ramen. But I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a picky eater.”

“That counts! I win!” Futaba declares. She snatches the menu out of Yusuke’s hands and sticks her tongue out at him. “Anyways, we should figure out what we want. The worst thing is making people wait on Inari to decide.”

Yusuke says, “I have already made my choice. Is that not why you were objecting to the corn?”

Futaba shoves him lightly. Goro smiles and looks down at the menu himself. It’s a little tricky to read upside down, but he isn’t going to order anything complicated. Hot broth, noodles, and minimal toppings are all he needs.

“This one is vegetarian,” Yusuke says, pointing to the third item down on the menu. Goro leans further over the table to get a better look.

Futaba groans. “But it has  _ corn!  _ Stop trying to make corn in ramen happen!”

It takes several more minutes of bickering, but the three of them finally manage to decide on their dishes. Much to Futaba’s chagrin, Yusuke does end up getting corn in his ramen, but she cheers herself up by reminding herself that it wasn’t sardines.

While they wait, Futaba says, “I’m so glad the semester’s finally over. I’m never going to look at a textbook ever again.”

“Oh, are you taking the next semester off?” Goro asks, tilting his head. “I assumed you were attempting to fast track your degree.”

Futaba says, “Well, I wasn’t taking the semester off, but now that you’ve  _ said _ that…”

Yusuke frowns. “Absolutely not. Did you forget that we do not get a rent discount if both of us are not in school?”

Futaba sticks out her tongue. “Of course I didn’t forget! But it’s dumb! Capitalism is so fucking dumb!”

“That I can agree with,” Yusuke says. 

Goro nods his own agreement, turning his head to look at the decorations in the restaurant. It’s a small, homey place, and he feels surprisingly comfortable there. He used to hate eating in public, where the entire world had their eyes on him, but now nobody is looking at him.

It’s freeing.

“Hey, Goro? You ever gonna go to uni?” Futaba asks suddenly, “Or do you like working at the convenience store all the time?”

Goro replies, “It’s not something I’ve thought about either way. The job is just so I have something to do during the day.”

Yusuke says, “Well, if you make the choice, I’m sure we could help you apply. Futaba knows most of the professors at her university.”

“Everybody loves me,” Futaba adds, smirking.

Goro isn’t entirely sure if formally enrolling is a good idea, considering all his documentation is fabricated, but he knows the two of them have their hearts in the right place, and smiles at them.

He doesn’t need to worry too hard about the future. Right now, it’s just a blessing to be here with his friends in the present.


End file.
